Lark rise - after the series end
by anne-benedicte
Summary: We leave Dorcas and Gabriel in love - but what would happen if fate was against them ... the story's is still in progress ... (I apologise for any spelling/grammar mistakes, as English is not my first language)
1. Chapter 1

**After the kiss**

In those first moments before fully waking up, Dorcas relived with relish the night before. He had come back after all – back to the Post Office, back to the Forge, and back to her.

When she had asked him to leave two days before, she was quite convinced it was the best course of action. Better stop everything now before she became too attached, before she had her heart broken once more. She could not deny a certain attraction to Gabriel Cochrane – as Minnie said, he was a "manly man", and she was a woman…And after that one show of temper, he had never been anything but kind towards Sydney. Moreover, she did admire his dedication to his work – after all, wasn't she the same with her Post Office ? His decision not to sell his machine, but to travel with it from farm to farm had come as a shock – she had imagined …Well, she did not exactly know what she had imagined, but certainly not that he would go quite so soon – so better to nip this girlish infatuation into the bud, and to ask him to leave immediately.

And then – he had come back. And she had to admit she was smitten. Obviously, he was no Sir Timothy, but Timothy had been part of her life since forever, and one could not compare a childhood crush with a mature love. And Timothy had gone, with his wife and child. He would not come back.

She got up, and got dressed, in her coral pink dress – one Gabriel had found "very fetching" on her once, and went down the stairs to her work, all the same wondering quite what the future entailed for Gabriel and her.

As for Gabriel – well, when he had gone to sleep in the forge, after that kiss and quite a few more, he was at the same time relieved, surprised and anxious. Relieved, because he was not quite sure, when he came back, that the fearsome Dorcas Lane would accept his change of heart. After all, she had thrown him out ! Surprised, because he had not thought he could fall in love again quite so soon after his wife's death – furthermore, her treachery, revealed by that letter found in her poetry books had cut deeply into his heart, and he had been so profoundly hurt that he had sworn to himself he would never, ever fall for another woman. Of course, Miss Lane was no fortune hunter, as had been Lisa – but she was no angel either! She certainly had a temper of her own, could be whimsical at times, and certainly had "many weaknesses". But his own hot temper was quite a match for hers, and although he tried to control it most of the time, it had gotten him many times into trouble in the past years. Anxious, because he could not quite see his future in Candleford. Of course, he could use the forge to build other machines, but Farmer Morris had helped him get a good deal on a foundry some fifty miles away, and he could not go back on that deal now. He had not yet told Dorcas that his "business" life would take him away from Candleford most of the time. And he did not like the position his loss of fortune had put him into – he did not relish the prospect of having to depend on Dorcas for financial matters. He was confident that his machine – or machines – would help him get his fortune and status back, but that would take time, and meanwhile …Well, anyway, for now, he would go and have breakfast , "one of the most important pieces of business they did at the Post Office" !

As time goes by

Nobody could ignore the fact that Dorcas Lane was in love with that handsome Gabriel Cochrane. Of course, for propriety's sake, they did not live under the same roof – Gabriel had moved into rented rooms between his new foundry and Candleford, and nothing untoward was going on between them – but sometimes looks speak louder than words…She was as efficient as always in her work, but could sometimes be found singing softly to herself – quite off-key - or with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Laura was glad for her – she had her Daniel, they were in love, and she wanted everybody around her to be happy too. Thomas was not so glad, nor so convinced by this new development. He had not taken to Gabriel Cochrane – that other male presence on the premises had bothered him from the start. Although in the very beginning he had been all for extending a Christian helping hand to that poor man who had lost his home and his wife, he did not like the way that Mr. Cochrane had wormed his way into Miss Lane's heart. There was a parent-like relationship between Thomas and Miss Lane – they had known each other for years, nearly as long as Miss Lane had known Sir Timothy. Miss Lane had taken Thomas on when he was still a lad and she was in need of help at the post-office after her father's death, and she was rather maternal towards him, as she was to all of her staff. But Thomas, especially after Matthew left to open his own forge, felt like "the man of the house", sometimes even the lord and master, and thus felt he had to protect Miss Lane from potential suitors. He looked upon Gabriel Cochrane as an opportunist who might well take advantage of Miss Lane's situation as a well-to-do single woman.

Gabriel felt torn – on one side, Dorcas, the fiery, stubborn Dorcas who had helped him recover from his wife's death and the loss of his business. On the other side – Juliette, Paris, and the prospect of an exciting new life on the other side of the Channel, far from the small-town mentality he had always found stifling. He would have to choose. He was not a good liar – his face reflected his feelings too much, and Dorcas was no fool. The story of a new order of three machines from a rich French investor, order that kept him long hours at the foundry, was one he could not spin forever, although it was only a half-lie. The rich French investor was real all right, the order too – what he had omitted was that Monsieur de Tersac, a widower, had a rather pretty nineteen-years-old daughter, just out of the convent where she had spent her teenage years, who travelled with him. This young lady had been taken by her father to Gabriel's foundry one day, as they were visiting the nearby village of Bourton-on-the-water, and she had shown much interest in the water-powered engines. Gabriel Cochrane had at first been too eager to impress Monsieur de Tersac with his foundry and his machines to notice Juliette. But she accompanied her father a second time, and then a third one …And he could not help thinking that the raven-haired, blue-eyed girl, with a slim figure and a modest bearing was rather comely.

Fresh from the convent, Juliette was not accustomed to men, and especially to "manly men" such as M. Cochrane. Quite a different specimen of manhood from Father Grégoire, the old priest who used to say mass and hear confessions at the convent …Moreover, she could see that her father, a shrewd businessman, was impressed by Gabriel's dedication to his work, and thought he could go far. Monsieur de Tersac did not encourage his daughter openly – that would not have been proper – but he had no objections to her accompanying him on his trips to the foundry. And when the time came for father and daughter to go back to France, words had to be spoken before it was too late.

"I can see you are deeply troubled, Gabriel. What's on your mind ?"

Dorcas had noticed Gabriel's preoccupied looks, his change of behavior towards her too. He was less present, for one – he said he had had a huge order at the foundry. And when he was at the post-office, his mind seemed elsewhere. He had not mentioned getting married for some time, too – and she was not getting any younger. Although Sydney was the apple of her eyes, she would have liked to have Gabriel's child. A daughter, maybe…She could share the post-office with Sydney one day !

Gabriel sighed deeply – he had to tell her, he just had to …But how could he do that to her? After Sir Timothy, after James Dowland – and he did not even know James Dowland had proposed to her too ! And yet …The boat for France was leaving in a week, and he would be on it – he owed it to himself. He had lost his father's foundry, but Monsieur de Tersac offered him a future he would never had dreamt of. A factory in the suburbs of Paris, a mansion – and a lovely wife-to-be. Better to tell Dorcas now, get it over with. But he could not.

 **Another letter**

"Miss Lane ! Miss Lane ! What happened ? Are you hurt ?"

Hearing a low moan, and then a soft thud, Laura had rushed into the post-office, to find her employer in a dead faint on the floor, clenching a half-opened letter. She called Thomas, and they managed to carry Dorcas to her parlor and to lay her on the couch.

"Do you think we ought to call for the doctor ?" asked Laura. "She's so pale. And she still hasn't opened her eyes."

"And I wish I never had to open them again. Don't make a fuss, Laura – I'm all right. It was just a faint" said Dorcas. "Will you two leave me alone for a moment ? I need a little time to myself. Laura, please take over at the counter.'

"Certainly, Ma'am. Are you sure you'll be all right ?"

"Quite all right, thank you."

And Laura and Thomas had to go downstairs, repressing their curiosity…

However, Miss Lane was definitely not "all right". That night, she took to her bed, and simply did not get up the following morning. To Minnie, to Laura, to her cousin Emma, she refused to give any explanation. Indeed, she refused to see anyone, Minnie was the only one allowed in the bedroom, to bring broths and cups of tea – any other food was left uneaten on the trays. She asked Minnie to tell Sydney she feared contagion, and thus forbade him to enter the room, but she knew fully well it was a lie. Heartbreak is usually not contagious.

And Dorcas knew hers was broken forever. It had been weakened by Timothy, crazed by Mr Delafield, split by James Dowland – but Sydney had helped in the mending – and now it had been smashed to smithereens by Gabriel's letter. Was this a kind of divine revenge? A way for the sky to punish her for the many times she had meddled in her neighbors' affairs after having noticed something in their post? She was not sure she believed in God, but if there was one, he had certainly forsaken her.

He had not even had the courage to tell her of his departure face to face – coward ! But all men were cowards – except maybe her father. And even her father – had he not always told her that "love never crosses the great divide of social class"? Was it not a way to avoid any trouble with the established order and morality of the times at the cost of her happiness?

She now understood those periods where her father was unreachable, though. Because she was quite sure she would never leave her bed again. She had no energy, no real will to live. She never wanted to see another letter again.

"In many's the face the joy he can trace

In many's the grief he can see" (Postman's knock lyrics)

Indeed ! And this time the grief was too heavy to bear…

 **A need for action**

The Misses Pratt, after a few days of coming in the post-office and never seeing Miss Lane, obviously enquired after her. Laura was so worried she confided in them. They tried to see Dorcas, but the door remained close. Although they would have loved to reveal to all and sundry the real reason of Miss Lane's indisposition, they were also sincerely worried for their neighbor and friend. Even Queenie was sent away – Miss Lane asked Minnie to tell her that she was "quite well, she only needed to rest for a while".

Days passed, weeks passed. Minnie was frantic – she told Laura that Miss Lane was "all skin and bones, she is – and so pale you'd think she was a ghost". Laura was still forbidden to go into the room, and was so worried she had become to lose weight too. She had dark-ringed eyes, and she seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulder. Thomas had begun to bite his nails again, and they were so raw Margaret could not help tutting whenever she saw his hands. One night, as he was sitting at home with his hands in his head, sighing heavily, she mustered up her courage and said "Thomas, my dear, it is not for me to say, of course, but …You saved Miss Lane's post-office once already, it seems that you might have to do something again."

My dear Margaret, I would not want to go against God's will. If He wants her to suffer, who am I to try and interfere ?

Can it be God's will to let a human being suffer so much, though he has not done anything wrong ? Miss Lane has already suffered many losses in her life, it does not seem fair that she has to bear all this, and all alone. She has done no harm, God punishes sinners, but surely she has not sinned that much ?

You are right, Margaret – God is merciful, and everybody deserves a helping hand. I have to do something, and quickly, before something happens to her. We must pray, now more than ever – I'll ask the vicar to say a special prayer to relieve her of her burdens. "

Oh Thomas ! Are you sure Miss Lane would want to be mentioned aloud by the vicar during the service ?

"Yet not my will, but Yours be done" (Luke), Margaret !

It was Margaret's turn to sigh – she was a believer, of course, but her dear Thomas relied all too much on God. What was needed here was action, not prayer. She did not want to enlist Laura's help – for a young girl, she already had too many charges with the post-office and Sydney. Emma too had too much to do with her children, and coping with Robert being away. Who could she turn to? And then, she knew – there was someone who had experienced heartbreak too, and who was fond of Miss Lane.

 **Delicate company to the rescue**

" No, Minnie, I told you to leave the curtains closed ! The sun hurts my eyes – can't you ever do what you're told, girl ?

Minnie is downstairs, dear Miss Lane – I though …Well, we thought – oh, how shall I say that – that Miss Ruby and I could be of assistance to you in your hours of need …provide some delicate company, maybe …

Leave me alone, Margaret ! I do not need your help, or anyone's. I just need to rest, and sleep. I don't want company, delicate or not !

Miss Lane. Dorcas. Please listen to me. Do you remember how you helped me when I came back from Pontefract ? I could not turn to my sister for help, and you were there to listen and assist me through my difficult times. You know how you always speak of the constant care for others ? People needing people ? This is how it works – one good turn deserves another. We are here for you now. And we will not let you waste away. That Gabriel Cochrane did not deserve you. It is good riddance to bad rubbish, if I may say so …Please talk to us

Ruby …Yes, I remember your Cornish suitor, and my meddling in your affairs; and my own words coming back to me …you mean I should listen to my own advice and stop interfering in everyone's affairs…I counsel others about love, and yet I seem unable to keep a man. Emma was right – I am not made for marriage, nor for happiness. I am condemned to live vicariously through the mail of Candleford people. And now leave me ! I wish to be alone.

We will not. We will stay here until you feel able to begin to live again. You can talk if you wish, be silent if you would rather be silent. But we will stay. And I have brought with me some of Pearl's blancmange and macaroons one of our suppliers sent us from Paris. Sweets are always a comfort – and you know you like macaroons, Miss Lane.

"food is my one weakness…" I wish it was - if only sweets could cure a broken heart…

Although she was deep into the realms of melancholia, or maybe because she was – didn't the psychiatrists Miss Lane was so fond of reading describe a "state of mental depression in which the misery is unreasonable", Dorcas very soon tired of having those two silent presences in her bedrooms. She found it unbearable, and sometimes felt as if she would go mad if it went on – if she was not mad already ! And yet part of her felt like she was not quite ready to give up on life yet. She was somehow aware that staying in bed was not a solution. Laudanum, suggested by Pearl Pratt in a letter accompanying a small phial of the product, did not appeal either. She had read too much about its effect on people – it was, it seemed, addictive – you became unable to function without it.

And so she began to talk to Ruby and Margaret, about small things at first – the state of her garden – she had always been fond of roses, the new spring fashions …and sometimes she let herself be drawn into confidence, and spoke of her childhood with her father, and with Timothy. She did not ever mention Gabriel Cochrane – it was as if he had never existed, as if she had wiped him out of her memory. Both Ruby and Margaret knew it was not so, of course, but they also knew Dorcas was not a talker – she had always been ready to listen and counsel, but she rarely spoke of herself or her own feelings. It was as if she wore a shell, and she was afraid that if she let anything out, or anyone in, this shell would shatter into pieces, and her mind and soul with it. So she was that strange mixture of shyness and extraversion often found in stage people – when she was behind her counter or in public, she appeared to be a very sociable and even outgoing, but she was actually a very private person who rarely confided in others.

Then one day, she asked for her brushes, comb, and hair curlers – her Alexandra fringe had been sorely neglected during her long stay in bed, and her usually glowing hair had acquired a dull patina. With that came the mirror, and what she saw in it must have frightened her – at her age, sudden weight loss brings sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, and makes you age ten years in a week. Little by little, her appetite came back, and she began to tire of oxtail broth and calves foot jelly, and enjoy her food again, especially sweetmeats and ice cream. Luckily, Minnie's cooking had improved a lot since she first came to live at the Post Office, and she was so happy to see her employer showing an interest in food again she became adventurous and endeavored to cook "those new-fangled recipes" Laura had read about in The Lady. Vegetable chartreuses and grilled mackerel with gooseberry sauce, chicken croquettes and cheese ramekins made their way upstairs, sometimes met by a great astonishment on the part of Ruby, Margaret and Dorcas. Laura objected to Minnie cooking a "pigeons in their coffin pie", although Thomas had caught three beautiful fat birds on his round – her writer's soul rebelled at the name!

Dorcas began to sleep better at night – the terrible nightmares that had woken her up in pools of sweat and prevented her from going back to sleep abated, and the siestas she took during the days became unpurposed. Finally, the boredom of staying in bed overcame the emptiness she still experienced, and her sense of duty to the post office and her customers came back to her. She also felt guilty about having let Laura shoulder the responsibility of the business during all those years.

The day she went down for the first time in weeks was a day of rejoicing for all the post office "family" – not so much for her, as she was still in a kind of limbo. She did not want to feel again – it was too painful. And so if outwardly she was as before – only kind of sharper both in looks and in tone – inwardly she was frozen. Sidney, Laura, Minnie and Thomas, relieved and delighted to have Miss Lane back, could see she was not herself yet. They sensed it would take time for her to get back to her normal self.

Eight months later …

 **A train accident**

Daniel rushed into the post office and positioned himself besides the telegraph machine with his notepad and pen – he was panting quite heavily, and seemed to be in a state of extreme agitation.

Heavens, Daniel! What is it? What happened? You look as if you'd heard the sky had fallen somewhere nearby!

Not the sky, Miss Lane, no, but the train! A friend of mine has just come from Oxford, and the London to Oxford train of 7.30 has collided with a Liverpool express! Both trains were on the same line, and the signalman seems to have been drunk. Whatever the reason, anyways, he was unable to perform his duty properly, and there was an accident – the trains crashed, many were injured, and two of the carriages burst out into flames. He went back at speed to Oxford after telling me, hoping to learn more, and he's going to telegraph me the news.

My goodness! How awful! Those poor people!

Dorcas was interrupted by the sound of the telegraph machine coming to life. "I've got it, Ma'am", said Laura who had come to see what the fuss was about.

"Huge catastrophe/ At least 12 dead/ Lord and Lady Aucksley with nurse and child/ Reverend Gloucester / Earl of Canterfield/ Lady Handfield /Lady Midwinter and nurse/ Miss Renshaw/Miss Farham identified / More later/ Harry."

When Laura stopped writing and turned back to the others, she was ashen.

What is it, Laura ? Let me see

Oh Ma'am …It's …People were killed, and …Oh Ma'am ! Lady Adelaide …

Dorcas stifled a cry: "Lady Adelaide ? And Timothy ? What about Timothy ?"

Daniel snatched the sheet of paper from Laura's hand : "He is not on the list, Miss Lane. Harry is an accurate fellow – he would have checked his facts before sending the telegram"

[TO BE CONTINUED]


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

 **After the accident**

" Stop hovering over me, Bateson ! I am FINE ! Just go and leave me alone, for God's sake !"

Bateson exited the room in his sedate way which did not in any way reflect his inner feelings. Since the train accident, Sir Timothy had not been himself. He was cranky, bad-tempered, and misanthropic. The funeral of Lady Adelaide had been conducted in the utmost privacy by the vicar, and even the child was not present. The squire had stood alone besides the grave, shooing away even the kindly priest after the prayers. "Stood" was a misnomer – he had not been able to stand since before the train wreck. One of his legs had been burnt so severely that the doctors had had to amputate it just below the knee. Even more seriously, they said his spinal cord had been damaged – he might never be able to walk or ride again.

He had stayed nearly two months in the hospital, and the physicians there did not agree on the diagnosis – some of them said he would recover mobility with time, others thought he would remain a cripple for life. He was now back on his patch, in a wheelchair.

His little daughter Faith had luckily come unharmed from the wreck – she had been found under her mother's body in one of the carriage. She was physically unhurt, but she suffered from terrible nightmares from which she woke up sweating and with racing pulse, eyes and mouth wide open, but in total silence – she had not uttered a word since she had been rescued from the train.

Since she had heard of the train wreck, Dorcas had been …Well, kind of a wreck too. Daniel had managed to learn that Sir Timothy had been transferred in a serious condition to the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford, but since then, she had had no more news. Two days after the accident, as she could not bear not to know anything about Timothy's health, she had harnessed her pony-trap and driven to Oxford, but as she was not family, the physicians refused to tell her anything or to let her see him.

She came back in a worse state than she left. She was even more worried, and she was angry – at the physicians, at fate, at Timothy, and most of all at herself. How could she still love a man who she had refused to marry? "Love never crosses the great divide of social class" – for years, she had wondered if she had obeyed her father, or if there had been something else, something amiss in their relationship. And then, he had married Adelaide, who had borne him a daughter – the eternal link. Dorcas admitted to herself that until the child was born, she had nurtured a secret hope that maybe, one day, he would come back to her. But when Faith – she had laughed bitterly at the choice of name- was born, she felt she really had to abandon all hope of Timothy ever looking her way again.

And now …Now Timothy was back on his patch. He had been back for over a month, and she had not caught even a glimpse of him. She had gone to the manor, of course, but she had been denied entry by the butler, who had said he had strict orders not to let anyone come in. Her pride – her one weakness – would not let her beg, especially not before a servant, and she had come home her head held high, and her insides churning.

 **A "stranger" in the graveyard**

"Please see to the customers, Laura – I'm going to the graveyard. I've sorely neglected my parents' grave this spring, and I really must see if it has not disappeared under the weeds!"

"Of course, Ma'am"

When Dorcas arrived at the graveyard, she made out a dark figure over what appeared to be a recent headstone. She did not want to intrude on a stranger's private grief, but she was also very curious. She firmly told herself it was none of her business, but when she heard the man talking aloud, and what he was saying, she thought her heart would stop.

"Now it's too late – we'll never make it work. Why did you have to fall in love with that Richard Hastings? I remained faithful to you, and you betrayed me ! And finally, that baby …"

It was Sir Timothy – although he was partially hidden by a tree, and quite far from her, she could not mistake a voice she had heard for so many years, and for so many more in some of her dreams. She did not hesitate for long. She knew he wanted to be alone, but she could not help herself – she just had to see him, to be sure it was him.

When Timothy heard footsteps, he cursed his infirmity – he was not in the wheelchair anymore – the physicians had been wrong in thinking he would never walk again – but he still leant on two canes, and those prevented him from walking fast, let alone run away. And when he saw the intruder was Dorcas …Well, he cursed even more. He was not exactly sure of what he was feeling – it was a mixture of shame, powerlessness, anger …He did not want anyone to see him so diminished, so feeble – a cripple, a half-man, let alone the girl who had taunted him and teased him for so many years with her fleetness of foot, her fearless riding, and her deftness.

"Timothy …

Dorcas …"

Neither of them could find the words. Dorcas, who was rarely at a loss when it came to speak, found herself tongue-tied, and Timothy was too bitter, too ashamed to say what he wanted to say – and even if he had found the words, he did not exactly know what he wanted to say. So he finished the sentence he had begun to say to the person who laid in the ground: "It was a baby boy – and I'll never know if he was mine"

"He that dies pays all debts".

When she could not think of what to say, Dorcas often turned to her beloved Shakespeare.

Would you stop spouting the Bard at me?

"It's not enough to speak, but to speak true." I'm sorry, Timothy! I just can't seem to help myself!

You're sorry! Well, you ought to have been sorry twenty years ago, when you refused to marry me. We wouldn't be standing here like that.

"The course of true love never did run smooth.""

Dorcas covered her mouth with her hand – "oops, I can't believe I did it again."

When there is nothing left to say, you've always been able to add your two cents, haven't you ?

Oh Timothy – that IS unfair !

It is not …But then, you've always wanted the last word too …

Dorcas could see Timothy was not in a talkative mood, but her curiosity – her one weakness – would not let her leave without trying to know what he was talking to himself about. She wanted to say she was sorry about his loss, sorry about the death of Lady Adelaide but …She did not believe in God, of course she did not – she only believed in science, and in what she saw, but – and it was quite a big but – if by any chance there was a god, surely he would not take too kindly to fibs, lies and other misdemeanors. And so she felt she could not possibly say she was sorry.

I suppose you've overheard me and you want to know what it's all about, don't you ?

Well…I am sorry, Timothy, I did hear you.

It was a baby boy – he was so beautiful, so …

Timothy felt the tears rising – damn that stupid sensitivity which had mostly come on him after the accident! He turned his head for a moment, swallowed hard, and then went on:

"Adelaide gave birth to a baby son three months ago. He died a week after his birth – an unexplicated fever. And then, not two days after the burial, she told me she did not, and had never loved me. She said she had a lover, Richard Hastings, her harp teacher. The affaire had been going on for quite some time, and she wanted to leave me and go live with him. They would go to Germany, she said – he could teach, and she could keep house for him! Keep house! Ha! She had never known a life without servants, but she was ready to forgo everything and go to clean and cook for that Hastings! She even implied that Guy – my son – may not have been mine! I went crazy, and left London that very same day. I was found two days later, with a raging fever, by a parson on a country lane. He took me in, and he and his housekeeper nursed me back to health. When I felt better, we had long talks, he and I. About life, about God …And he convinced me my duty was to Adelaide and Faith. He persuaded me to go back to them.

So I did - and…I'm ashamed to say I used Faith as a bargaining tool. I told Adelaide that if she went away with that Hastings, she would never see her child again. And I organized our immediate departure to Candleford, so that she would not see Hastings again. She agreed to my plan, but as the birth had left her quite weak and in pain, her physician did not want her to travel by carriage the whole way from London. Thus I arranged for us to take the train …And you know how it all ended."

Dorcas had listened to him aghast – she had had no great fondness for Adelaide, but she would not have wished the death of a newborn child on her worst enemy. As for that Richard Hastings …Well, it had happened once before, but Dorcas had been sure that Adelaide had only wanted to make Timothy more attentive towards her. She could not rely on her usual sarcastic wit to reply to this long tirade, but she was not used to express her emotions aloud, nor did she know how to tell Timothy what she felt for him. So she said nothing, and busied herself with the few weeds that had grown on Adelaide's grave.

Timothy went on speaking : "Since the accident, Faith has not uttered a single word. She was a quiet child before, but now she is a little ghost – so pale, so drawn – she eats like a bird, and she has nightmares. The physicians at the hospital said she had not suffered any physical damage, but the shock has made her mute – they have no idea if she will ever speak again."

"Oh Timothy, poor little girl! Why don't you bring her to the post-office? Maybe she could play with Sidney?

I have no idea what to do with her. I have engaged a governess, a very nice girl, but …anyways, I'll have to go away again, and I won't be able to take her with me. I'll leave her with Lydia – the governess – she'll be well taken care of

Away again ?! But you can't ! I mean – you mustn't – you …

Dorcas could not believe her ears – he had come back to her, and he was going to desert her again? All the men in her life had left – her father, Timothy the first time, James Delafield, James Dowland, Gabriel …Was she cursed ? Of course, she was a mother, but if she was honest with herself, she had said to Adelaide that motherhood filled her like nothing else …maybe she was not quite full after all. Maybe there was still somewhere in her heart a little, a very very little void left for a man – and that very, very little void sometimes hurt very very much …


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

She fled! She left him standing there, besides the grave of his wife – she just could not cope with the situation, and did not know what to say, so she thought escape was her best move. She did not look back, just hurried to her horse and cantered off.

Her face looked so drawn and closed when she arrived at the post office no one dared to ask her any question. She shut herself away in her private rooms, and refused the offer of supper proffered timidly by Minnie through the closed door. After a sleepless night, she had no more ideas of what to do than before – she needed help, she needed to talk to someone, but to whom could she turn to?

Laura was too young, Minnie was – well, young and a servant, Ruby Pratt was too spinsterish. Margaret was a lovely woman, but …That was the trouble with her – she was too good, too Bible-imbibed – how could she understand passion and romance? In those moments, she missed having had a mother terribly. She had had no one to talk to about love when she was a girl – Zillah raised her as best as she could, but she was no intellectual and her father …Well, she often thought that her father believed she was a boy! She was allowed to help him at the forge, at the post-office, to ride in the fields …Although he changed his mind when she was about twelve, and began to have more feminine forms. He sent her away to boarding-school, to the nuns, and although she was miserable there, she was only allowed home twice a year, for Christmas, and during the summer.

It was no wonder she did not know how to express her feelings – no one had ever taught her how! Her father had been a great talker, but an impatient listener, and preferred lecturing her on the great Darwin than listening to her girlish woes. The nuns at school had been no better – sentimentality was strictly frowned upon, even often disciplined. And so she had learnt to keep it all inside, and to make her own opinions on how one had to behave with men. Her father had made her "Dorcas Lane, postmistress" – an employer, a woman of business, and it did not help her relationships with men. She had developed her wit, a formidable weapon against improprieties and over-zealous suitors, but she had not learnt how to tone it done when necessary.

Moreover, as she said herself, Dorcas was hopelessly sentimental, and when love struck, it overwhelmed her, and she tended to act in two opposite ways. Either she attacked the man with her barbed remarks or she acted like a helpless little girl, fluttering her eyelashes, dropping things and fingering her hair.

After a sleepless night, she felt her senses all out of kilter. She did know what she could do about Timothy, nor what she wanted to do. Dorcas usually tried to be logical and sensible, and to rely on science, but she felt so uneasy she decided a little occult could not hurt.

She therefore left for her early morning ride with the firm intention of having a cup of tea with her cousin Emma, and maybe, just maybe, if Queenie was around, she might ask her if the leaves spoke to her …She did not want to bother Emma with her troubles – her latest pregnancy was proving troublesome, and although one could not speak about those matters, Dorcas sensed that her cousin was more tired and unwell than usual. This sixth baby had not been expected, and another mouth to feed would be a burden to the family. When Dorcas arrived at the cottage, Emma made her feel welcome, but she could sense she was crankier than usual, and sharper with the children. It was certainly not the time to bring about her mawkish stories of pre-pubescent love.

However, politeness prevailed, and Dorcas was indeed invited to have a cup of tea, during the making of which Queenie happened to visit Emma with a pot of honey from her bees. After the salutations, Dorcas managed, quite diffidently to ask Queenie if she would read the tea leaves for her. She did not give her a reason for her demand, but she felt the weight of the older woman's gaze on her, and wondered, not for the first time, if there was any secret one could keep from Queenie's uncanny gift.

"Well, my dear, the leaves are a bit unclear, but they do give me some signs – nothing very happy, I'm afraid – I can see a vase …Someone is keeping something from you; and a wheel, here – broken – your life is going to change, but expect to be disappointed; someone is coming – a man – I don't know who…"

Dorcas did not know exactly what she had expected, but she could see that the reading was mostly negative, and did not give her any answer to her current dilemma. If anything, she was even more muddled up than before! She thanked both women, and took her leave. She felt somehow safer in the post office – safer from what, she did not know.

 **A God-given mission**

Meanwhile, Sir Timothy was also in torment – seeing Dorcas again had been more painful than he had thought. Somehow, he had hoped the years would have dimmed the relationship, but that had been a vain hope. Seeing Dorcas had reawaken so many memories, most of them painful, because they also evoked Adelaide.

He had not had the time – nor the courage – to tell her why, exactly, he was going away again. Afraid to hurt her, and afraid too of her sarcastic wit and biting tongue. He could hear her in his head "Running away to join the Church ? I'd heard of running away to sea, but that is even more twisted, Timothy. I'd never taken you for a bigot !"

And yet he would have to tell her – he was leaving Faith in good hands, with a nanny he trusted, but he hoped Dorcas could keep an eye on her too while he was staying in Oxford. He would need at least a year there before he could hope to become a curate, and then several more before he could be ordained. He had already studied theology at Oxford University in his youth, but he had thought then that his duty laid in becoming the squire of the Midwinter seat, being his father's eldest son. When he had inherited the manor, he had married and led a life which was, if not sinful, far from the asceticism one would associate with a rigorous religious practice.

Then had come the train wreck, and his sojourn in hospital. A few days after the accident and his amputation, he had been taken with a terrible fever, from which the physicians at the hospital doubted he would come out alive. The hospital chaplain had been called to give him the last rites, and this priest had been strongly moved by the fate of this man who had lost his wife, his leg, and had been left with a little daughter to raise without a mother. Therefore Reverend Ormond had come back to see the patient after that first time when the situation had seemed desperate. They had had long talks – forced to immobility, the squire was desperate for something to do which would keep him from reminiscing, and intellectual banter was a substitute to hunting or riding. The reverend belonged to the tractarian movement, and was in the process of being ordained in the Anglo-Catholic church at the time. He had strong arguments, and exposed them well – Timothy was drawn in. Moreover, he began to think that all along, God had had a plan for him, and that in marrying and following in his father's footsteps, he had not, as he had thought them, obeyed his destiny, but taken a byway. Maybe he should have followed his first feelings and gone into the Church after all. And maybe that accident was a warning from God not to ignore his calling any longer.

Those long hours lying down had taken a toll on his physical health, but he believed they had strengthened his moral sense and his spirit. He had always admired Thomas for his implicit, simple faith – one believed, there was no other way, no questions. His was not a given faith, it was one that had been tried and tested many times, but he felt ready now to embrace the cause and to serve God as a priest.

Dorcas would just have to understand …

 **A woman scorned …**

While Timothy was wondering how he could make a life-long semi-atheist and science believer understand that he was going to dedicate his life to God, Dorcas was wondering was was wrong with her. She was not one to flee before confrontation – she usually relished it in some strange way. Why hadn't she just told Timothy what she thought ? And before she could once again relapse into the torments of indecision, she decided that she just had to see Timothy.

When she arrived at the manor, she all but threw the reins of her carriage into the hands of a passing stable lad, and hurried into the hall. She knew she would probably find Timothy in the library, his favorite haunt. And there she found him, deep in the process of reading a voluminous tome.

He startled almost guiltily at her appearance.

"Dorcas ! What …"

Once again, they both found themselves unable to put into words what they had to express. So, tentatively, she extended her hand, and touched Timothy's cheek, where a ragged and angry scar had been left after the accident.

He caught her hand, held it in his for a moment, and pulling her to him, kissed her fiercely on her lips. Then he pushed her away, and took his head in his hands: "I can't, I can't".

Why can't you ? Why ? Abigail is dead !

Timothy thought about a rhyme the village children used to sing when he was a lad: " Dare to be a Daniel, Dare to stand alone, Dare to have a purpose firm! Dare to make it known !"

It had never been more appropriate …

Dorcas – I cannot love a woman anymore. If I could engage my life to someone, you would be that someone. But I am already engaged – to God.

To God ? What on earth do you mean ?

I am going to serve God for the rest of my days – I am going to become a priest.

Dorcas fainted – later on, she would say it was the closeness of the day, the damp humidity that made the air swelter. She would never admit that this was a shock too many. When she came to, she was lying on a sofa, and Timothy was bent anxiously over her.

You ? A priest ? You, who had to be dragged to church when the hunt came to Candleford ? It is a joke, isn't it ? And a cruel one, Timothy !

No, Dorcas, it is not.

And he told her about Reverend Ormond, and about his hopes for his future. She listened because she had listened to his troubles all their lives, and because it was an art she had perfected over the years. She had not yet achieved the ideal – maybe utopian- state of utter understanding without judgment, however, but she had learnt that sometimes, sarcasm had to be kept at bay. And though she was undeniably shocked and distressed, she managed to hold her tongue. There was indeed nothing much to say, as she saw he was not to be moved or reasoned with. She promised to see to Faith if there was need to, and left. She did not manage to wish him good luck, that was too much to ask of her. She did not manage to get back immediately to the post-office either. She was so blinded by tears she had to stop her horse, dismount, and stagger to the nearest tree under which she crumpled and cried bitterly for nearly an hour.

[To be continued]


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The atmosphere was heavy at the post office. When Dorcas returned from the manor, Laura was busy at the counter and Minnie out on errands, and she managed to slip in unnoticed. She was thus able to wipe off the traces of tears, to powder her face again and to rearrange her hair again. When she came downstairs again, her face was drawn, and she wore her most forbidding expression when, the expression that said "do not on any account ask me questions". And no one dared.

The news of Sir Timothy's departure arrived at the post office a few days afterwards, but no one dared to ask Miss Lane if she knew where he was going. Margaret lamented the fact that he was leaving his young motherless daughter with a stranger, but the nanny came into the post office and proved to be a very amiable young person, so Margaret was somewhat placated.

Therefore, life resumed under an appearance of normality. The situation, however, could not last. A few weeks after Sir Timothy's departure, a thunderous knock on the door roused the whole household in the early morning hours.

Dorcas was the first one to reach the door – she unbolted it and saw Laura's father on the doorstep, looking distraught:

"Dorcas, it's …It's …Emma, she's ..She's …" and he broke into tears.

It took a good ten minutes for him to stop and for Dorcas to understand the cause of his anguish. The baby had come early, with the umbilical cord around his neck. He had been stillborn and Emma too weak to expel the placenta herself. After several hours during which Emma had howled with pain, the midwife had managed to remove it, but by then, Emma was barely conscious. Despite Queenie's and the midwife's efforts, she had hemorrhaged and had slept from semi-consciousness to her death.

By then, everyone was seated around the kitchen table – Minnie was biting her handkerchief and crying, Laura was in tears, on her father's lap, her head buried in his vest, and Dorcas was trying desperately to stay calm and to check her tears. She knew it would not help anyone if she too succumbed to sorrow. She could not imagine her cousin dead – and a flow of childhood memories fled through her mind.

She felt desperately sorry for Emma's family, and she could hardly bear to imagine the pain she must have endured – all her other deliveries had been fast and easy. Moreover, she could not help wondering how she would behave if ever she was in such circumstances – would she bear the pain? Was it really worth it? She was approaching the end of her child-bearing age, and yet – sometimes, the yearning for her own baby was so strong, so powerful that she felt it inside, in her loins – it tore her in two, like a psychological labor. When she was given babies to hold in her arms, she usually studied them as if they were laboratories specimen, noting their little fingernails, the way they would clench her necklaces in their fists, or the smiles they would give her. It was not in those moments that she longed for one of her own. It was when she was alone in her parlour, embroidering a collar or adding up the post-office figures. Then, her mind would wander, and she would think of Sydney, and of the possibility of a little sister for him, a little girl she would dress in frilly dresses and lace. A little girl she would recognize herself in …A little girl she would shower with love and who would not have the lonely childhood she had had with a loving but busy and stern father.

However, now was not the time for self-pity. Someone had to take charge, and although Robert Timmins had stopped crying, he was obviously not in a position to act sensibly. The rest of the night was spent in Lark Rise, where Robert stood vigil over his deceased wife, Laura took care of her brothers and sisters, and Dorcas made lists of what had to be arranged for the funeral and the future of the orphans.

Her godson Edmund, thank god, was already settled in a good position where he learnt farm management. But there were still three children of tender years, Frank, Ethel, and baby Annie. Robert could not take care of them. He had to work to support them, and his trade did not allow him to stop in Lark Rise or even Candleford. He had worked in Oxford for some time, and now was expected to go even further, to Bristol, where his skills were in demand. Queenie could not take the three orphans in, as she was already taking care of the youngest Arliss and of a pair of twins born to a villager who was employed as a seamstress in a big house several miles from Lark Rise. Laura had a future as a postwoman somewhere, and could not be expected to stay in Lark Rise and raise her brothers and sisters. Her father did not wish her too, and Emma would not have wanted it either. What was to be done with the children?

For Dorcas, it was a heartbreaking situation – there was no question of her taking them in. She did not feel up to raising a whole family, and most of all, she did not feel it would be fair to Sydney. He had had such a miserable time before he had come to her that he had to get her whole, undivided attention. Herself having been an only child, she was not sure how a mother's heart could expand to several children, and she somehow felt as if one or even all of them would suffer from being one of many. The family would have to be broken up. Of course, she might take Annie in, but …she remembered how she had been so unsettled when Annie had stayed at the post office for a few days. Annie would always be Emma and Robert's child – she would never be hers.

It took a few days to settle the situation, but Dorcas and Robert finally found a way to take care of the three orphans. Those two strong-willed individuals were usually at loggerheads, but in a crisis, they did manage to put their differences aside and to work together on the issue. Annie would stay with Queenie for the present – one baby would not make a great difference, and it would help Queenie to grieve for the great friend she had lost in Emma. Frank would be apprenticed to Old Amos, the bootmaker – he could live with him, and his son's family in Candleford. As for little Ethel, Dorcas had hit upon an ingenious idea. She was to be sent to the manor, to be a companion to Sir Timothy's daughter Faith. Dorcas would pay for a governess to educate her and later on, she could either become a governess herself, or maybe a schoolteacher, or even a postwoman like her sister.

Laura was loath to admit it, even to herself, but she was relieved – she had hopes of marrying her Daniel sometime, but she had no wish for a ready-made family, and she rather hoped she would not have as many children as her parents. As for them coming to live at the post-office …She had a rather proprietary feeling towards her workplace and towards her employer. When she had first arrived at the post office, she had sensed that Zillah was not best pleased to see another woman arriving in the household. The older woman had been devoted to Miss Lane, and Laura herself had soon fallen under the spell of her employer. For a young country lass, Miss Lane was the epitome of sophistication and wit. Laura's dearest wish was to be as much like her as possible. Moreover, although she and her mother were close, she sometimes felt as if her mother preferred her sons, and was too busy with her younger ones to pay enough attention to her eldest. She did not have many female friends to confide in in Lark Rise – her schoolfriends had left school some years before her, and there were some things she could not tell Alf, her closest childhood friend … a boy.

Dorcas had been welcoming, if a little reserved at first – she was not by nature an extrovert woman, despite her tendency to meddle. And although she was on good terms with her neighbors, she did not have a close woman friend either, nor experience of young girls. She did remember her convent days, but those were not happy memories, and she rather preferred not to call them to mind too often. She had not been very popular with her classmates then, being rather too frank, too abrupt and too reserved. Therefore, she had received Laura with affection, but also a little caution. She felt rather maternal towards the girl, but she was wary of usurping Emma's position, and then, Laura was not quite a child anymore – she had an understanding of things often superior to her age, and Dorcas sometimes felt inclined to confide in her.

The relationship between them had evolved in their years of cohabitation, and Laura now felt quite jealous of anyone who would come between the two of them and risk upsetting their carefully built connection. When Miss Lane had taken her baby sister Annie in for a few days, she had felt such antipathy towards the baby she had been surprised herself. She had been so caught up in her own feelings she had been oblivious to Dorcas's reactions at the time, and if Fisher had not pointed out to her that Miss Lane was feeling rather overwhelm by the surge of emotions the presence of Annie had provoked, she would have remained unaware of Dorcas's discomfort. She could not have said then, and still couldn't what exactly was troubling her employer at the time – she was too young to understand what a childless woman at Dorcas's age could feel face with the prospect of never giving life. But since then, she had tried to put her thoughts on paper, and she had been very worried that Miss Lane's natural generosity and her yearning for children would make her take her siblings in.

And so life resumed. Laura did miss her mother, and sometimes found herself thinking during her rounds that she just had to tell her about this or that – and then, when she arrived in Lark Rise, seeing the new family which had taken over the cottage would remind her of her loss. She would cry at night sometimes, and Miss Lane, knowing too well what it was to have lost a parent, would bring her a glass of hot milk and biscuits, and stay with her a little, reminiscing about her own childhood to divert Laura's thoughts from her sorrow.

[TO BE CONTINUED]


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Meanwhile, it was business as usual in the post office, and although Laura was sometimes found with her eyes closed behind the counter, the outcome of sleepless nights, the usual service was taken care of. Letters posted to absent sweethearts, telegrams bringing news of births and deaths, mail coaches bringing the latest fashions from Paree for the Pratt Sisters and leaving with Daniel Parish's articles.

"Arriving tomorrow – please prepare books for inspection – PO Headquarters"

When Miss Lane took reception of this telegram, she was not unduly surprised nor agitated. The books were audited once a year, and as usual, she had paid a private auditor to check the post office accounts a month before. M. Drinkwater, who had audited the accounts in her father's time and in her first years as postmistress had never returned since the time he had been taken ill and M. Rushton had taken his place. Presumably, he had taken his retirement. M. Rushton had never returned either – his successor for some years now had been a rather non-descript little man, M. Middleway. The first time she had set eyes on him, Dorcas had found him rather gnomish. He had been polite, but not very communicative, and had not made a lasting impression on the post office staff. Indeed, if anyone had been asked to describe him a few days after his departure, they would have been hard-pressed. He gave out a colorless impression, as if one could set him up on a shelf and forget all about him.

Therefore, on the next day, the books were set on the kitchen table, the kettle was put on the fire – never should it be said that Miss Lane was not a good hostess, but no one had any great expectations for this visit. She was dressed with her usual care, but she had donned a large apron over her purple silk dress, as she was making wine jelly, which had a tendency to splatter the whole kitchen when poured into the mold.

And thus, when she heard Minnie, who was dusting the counter, call: "Here's someone - says he's the inspector, Ma'am", she did not register Minnie had not recognized the previous inspector, and came out to meet him with her apron, her hair in some disarray and wiping her hands on a dishcloth. Only when she heard a male voice says "What a lovely picture of domesticity, Miss Lane! I remember your calf's foot jelly as a powerful tonic to boost." did she raise her head and nearly miss her footing in shock.

During all those years, she had thought she had been immune to his charm, and that they had become good friends after beginning as sworn enemies. Indeed, she had not thought about him much – only the first year after his first visit, when he had not come back. And then sometimes when she was alone, late at night in her bedroom …She could not deny her mind might have strayed towards her memories of a handsome and masterful presence. But at the time, she had been too preoccupied with coming to terms with her feelings for Timothy to listen to the little voice telling her she could well fall in love with someone else.

And yet …She had been at her most sarcastic with him. She had vexed him over and over again, she had looked for the tiniest chink in his armor to pierce him with venomous words. Only when he had seemed at death's door, and had revealed unconsciously his thwarted love for a woman named Helena in his delirium had she relented and realized his brutish manners were not in his nature, but arose from a deep sorrow.

Aubrey Rushton had stepped forward to catch Dorcas as she stumbled. She was as lovely as he remembered her. When he had come the first time, expecting to inspect a M. Lane's accounts, he had been taken aback by finding a woman in charge. At the time, he had been very much in love with the daughter of his landlady, a young person several years younger than him, but who had seemed to reciprocate his feelings. However, a few days before he had to leave for his annual tour of the Oxfordshire post offices, she had been distant, cold, even. By questioning her, he had gotten to the bottom of the story – Helena had never considered him as a potential husband, she found him much too old and too erudite for her liking. She enjoyed getting his flowers, his bonbons, and his compliments, but she much preferred kissing in secret a young lawyer from their neighborhood, who had just proposed to her, and been accepted.

Therefore, when Aubrey Rushton had left Oxford to come to Candleford, it had been with the bitter tang of rejection in his mouth. He had been betrayed by a little minx who had stolen his heart, and he was ready to abhor any woman who would dare to cross his path. To find himself confronted with a self-assured coquette was too much for him! He swore to himself he would knock her off her pedestal, even if he had to check and re-check the books twenty times!

When he saw the Sunday collection had not been implemented, he exulted! At last he had found something he could reproach her with. And then, there were all those murmured conversations between Miss Lane and the girl, Laura – they were hiding something from him! Talking about him, no doubt – although he did not believe Laura for one second when she told him what Miss Lane had supposedly said. Him ? Needy ? Nonsense ! He was perfectly all right – he just wished the female part of humanity would disappear…Especially the winsome witty ones, like the owner of the Candleford post-office.

When he had come back during the night, he had had no precise intention – just a hunch something might be going on. Those whisperings had seemed ominous. And when he caught the high-and-mighty Dorcas Lane trading outside hours …He felt jubilant! It was not in his nature to be petty or revanchist, but he felt so aggrieved by his former lover's attitude that he was not himself. He was ready to have Dorcas Lane struck off the Post Office registers!

Luckily for her, he was taken by a fever on his way back to Oxford, and this fever restored him to sanity and his usual good, if reserved, nature.

Although he had fought it during the first day he had spent in the post office, he had not remained unaffected by Dorcas' charm, and by her witty, if somewhat caustic, banter. And thus, when he had been sent back by the head office in Oxford to Candleford, he had not left without trepidation. How would he be received by the post mistress? Had she really forgiven him for his boorish attitude of the first day? Would he feel drawn to her, or had it only been a passing fancy kindled by her animosity towards him at the time?

As for Dorcas, she suddenly felt as if her stays had been too tightly drawn, and never more had she wished she had the gift of second sight. She did hate to be caught unawares! Anxious by nature, she felt more secure when she was in control, and that included avoiding surprises, good or bad. However, there was no avoiding the meeting – he was actually holding her hand to stop her from falling down !

Baking is my one weakness, Mr. Rushton, as you may remember. Such a long time since we've had the pleasure of your company. I trust you will not refuse a cup of tea this time after your journey?

That is rather a low blow, Miss Lane – but I admit I deserve it. A cup of tea would be very welcome indeed.

Minnie! Please put the kettle on – Mr. Rushton and I will have tea in the garden – with Banbury cake …

Yes Ma'am- it's nearly boiled already Ma'am …

A Minnie bursting with curiosity brought the tea and the cakes to her employer and the handsome not-quite stranger. She was unaware of the story which had unfolded between them the year before she had come to the post-office – nobody had thought of telling her about the irascible inspector …But her mind, sharp as a tack, was firmly set on romance, and she was always trying to play matchmaker for her employer.

As for Dorcas, she was all in a dither. She had recovered her spirits a little from her initial surprise, but she felt overwhelm by strange emotions. It was only later that night, as she laid wide awake in her bed after Mr. Rushton had dined with her and her staff, and he had retired to the Golden Lion, that she was able to pinpoint what exactly had disturbed her so much. On their first meeting, he had been so rude, and she so intent on finding his Achilles' heel and taunting him that she had not realized why she reacted so strongly to him.

After a disturbed night, she decided she had to talk to someone about her feelings. Since Emma's death, Laura was her only remaining family member, but she could not share with her what she had to say. It was too personal, and too grown-up. Many people would have gone to the parish priest, but Dorcas, although she went to church to keep up appearances, definitely believed more in science than in God. And so she decided to take Ruby Pratt in her confidence. Ruby might understand. When she arrived next door, she was in luck – Miss Pearl was out on an errand, and the shop was devoid of customers.

Good morning Miss Pratt - Ruby – would you have a few minutes to spare? I am sorely in need of a kindred spirit to confide in.

Of course Miss Lane – you are always welcome. Would you like to sit down?

I would, thank you, Ruby – I'm sorry to trouble you with my worries.

It is no trouble. How often have you helped me with mine? Would it have anything to do with the handsome stranger who arrived yesterday at the post-office?

I'm afraid it has – and all because he is no stranger. He came several years ago to audit the post office accounts, and it was rather …Let's say tumultuous.

Out came the whole story of the discourteous way Mr. Rushton had behaved on his first visit, of the non-existent Sunday collection, and of the Irish labourers. And then, although she felt as if her courage might fail her, it was time for Miss Lane to divest herself.

[TO BE CONTINUED]


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Dorcas took a deep breath, chewed her lower lip for a few seconds, like she usually did when she was nervous, and went on:

You see, Ruby, I laid awake last night trying to understand why I reacted like that. After all, I could just have kept my own counsel, kept quiet, and told the Irish labourers to come back another time. Things would have gone more smoothly. But I did not. I know I always say too much, but that time, it was more than that. It was as if I just could not help myself. And last night, I comprehended why. It was all because of my father. You know, of course, that my mother died when I was just a baby, and I was raised by my father and Zillah. I did not lack in love, of course…but there were times …There were times I'll never forget.

My father was the life of this town – he was usually always ready to talk and jest with the post-office customers, and he kept a good table for his staff. But sometimes, maybe once every two months, the black dog of depression descended on him. He would barricade himself in his private quarters, and woe betide anyone who would disturb him there – only Zillah was allowed in, with his meals. I just could not accept that. I remember those days from when I was about seven or eight years old …awkward age indeed! I would be as disobedient as I could then – I would stomp down the stairs, I would bang doors, I knocked on his several times a day even though I knew he would not let me in, I switched salt and sugar on his tray …I made a perfect nuisance of myself. One day, I even slipped out at night, and met Timothy – we had planned to sleep outside to see the sun rise. Our plan was thwarted by Timothy's father's gamekeeper – he spotted us huddling under a tree, and brought us back to our respective homes – I still shudder when I recall the punishment we got then. It would usually end up in tears anyways – although Zillah tried to protect me from my father's wrath, he was so deep into his suffering that his usual benevolent nature totally disappeared, and he became merciless. When my behavior became insufferable, he would call me in his room, and I would get my – admittedly – just deserts.

Only then did I stop my reckless behavior, as if chastisement had been what I was looking for all along. Now that I am older, I can see more clearly what I was after – it was not castigation, but notice – being ignored by my father was so painful even punishment was better than nothing. You would think I would have grown out of it by now – my father's death, and the responsibilities he left me with – the post-office, the forge – should have taken care of that.

However, even though people tend to think of me as confident, and even over-confident sometimes – even overbearing – how often has Pearl told me that I did not know what was good for everybody! – well, not so deep down inside me is still a child, a child who was so scared of being abandoned that she would risk being punished harshly, just to be noticed by the only parent she had left. And …

Dorcas gulped, and met Ruby's eyes for the first time in her confession. She read in them a deep interest – one could even say fascination – but also a deep empathy and understanding. And she found in them the courage to go on.

You must wonder why I am reminiscing about those things. Well, you see – this is the reason why I reacted that way to Mr. Rushton in the first place. He was so cold, so forbidding, that he reminded me of my father during his bouts of melancholia. Of course I did not acknowledge that memory then, but I recognized the grief, and the need to lash out at anyone who would be liable to intrude on a private sorrow. And I must admit that part of me was attracted by him too – but I did not know how to show it, so I reacted like I used to do with my father – I teased him and tormented him at every possible opportunity. I fear I did it with more intent and cruelty than when I was a child – barbed remarks seemed to come easily, and forcefully. And I was waiting for my just deserts – my chastisement – I suppose this was why I did not put off the Irish labourers – I must somehow have felt that they could be my demise. Do you think me cruel? Or twisted? I sometimes feel as if I were insane – so many pent-up feelings inside of me make me feel as if I do not know myself anymore.

Oh, Dorcas! of course you are not twisted! What you said about your childhood – your father – that must have been terrible for a child to bear. It is no wonder it comes back to you now. I am not a good advice-giver – and as you know, I am not a good example when it comes to matters of the heart …but – remember what you and Mr. Bourne told me when …well, when I thought I ought not to try. You told me to face my sister, and to go to Pontefract – Mr. Bourne told me that if I did not try, I might regret it for the rest of my life. You should not be afraid to open up to that Mr. Rushton – he might just be the one for you.

You are right, Ruby – of course you are right – I should make an habit of listening to my own advice more often – but …

She was interrupted by the arrival of Pearl – and Dorcas had no wish to confide in _her_.

Good morning Dorcas ! My goodness ! Whatever is the matter with you ? You look all _chiffonnée_ …

Good morning Pearl! I am well, do not worry about me – only Sydney had nightmares last night, he woke us all up, and I stayed with him part of the night. Disturbed sleep tends to make me look more tired than I really am

Indeed …

Well, ladies, I will take my leave – thank you, Ruby – I will ponder your words of wisdom – puce might not suit me as well as I thought – but I do want a change from purple – one needs variety in one's dresses, don't you think?

Many sleepless nights would follow for Miss Lane. During the day, she had no time to ponder on her predicament. She had the whole of Candleford to occupy her mind – and it seemed that they depended on her for guidance. Thomas, torn between his obligations to Her Majesty and his piety, Minnie, who could not quite convince Alf to marry her before his sisters were grown-up and independent. Laura, who seemed to become colder and colder towards Daniel. Daniel, who could not make Laura see reason. Elizabeth, the governess employed by Sir Timothy for his daughter, who sometimes seemed totally devoid of common sense, although she was extremely well-read and well-spoken, …So many people wanting her words of wisdom, her advice. It was quite exhausting, and left no time to ponder on one's own feelings. She did not quite know if it was to the good or to the bad, anyhow. She was definitely sentimental, but in regards to others rather than to herself.

As time goes by

Aubrey Rushton had gone back to Oxford, but he came back quite often, usually under the pretense of bringing a new book to Miss Lane. They were both interested in progress and in the new scientific discoveries, and they could discuss theories for hours, for instance, Mr. Darwin's cousin's researches on genius, although they mostly disagreed on his discoveries. Aubrey Rushton mostly adhered to Mr. Darwin's idea that all babies were born alike and could be educated to become scholars or labourers. However, Miss Lane believed, as did Mr. Galton, that the sole agencies in creating differences were not steady application and moral effort, but that babies were all born with gifts and talents of various importance.

They also shared a love for riding, and both enjoyed dabbling in photography. They did not always stay in Candleford, and sometimes met away from the gossips for a day or two. They went to take the waters in Cheltenham – it gave Miss Lane an opportunity to buy and wear new gowns and also to visit the newly opened Ladies' College. She was a strong proponent of girls' education, and corresponded with Miss Dorothea Beale, the principal of the college.

Meanwhile, Laura had tried Daniel's patience for too long. He could sense she was becoming more and more distant, and the colder she got, the more his dormant ambition raised its head. Moreover, his paper did sell well, but not well enough to afford him a comfortable lifestyle, and he was becoming tired of lodging with the Misses Pratts. He wanted his own home, with a wife to keep it for him, and he was beginning to think that Laura would never settle to such a pedestrian existence. Unbeknownst to her, he had written to his old newspaper's editor in Oxford, and had been promised a senior editor position there, should he want to return. Such a position would also free him from mundane tasks such as searching for advertisers, making sure the printing press were in order or ordering ink and paper. He did not, however, wish to sever all links with Candleford – he had made good friends there and in Lark Rise. The parting was thus quite amicable. Laura acknowledge to Miss Lane that she was the one who ought to have broken it up, but that she had not dared. Therefore, she was not overly distressed, though her pride was, quite ironically, quite piqued …

[TO BE CONTINUED]


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

And so, while old friends gravitated away from Candleford, old acquaintances made their way back to it. George Ellison, having finished his medicine studies, came back to assist the old Candleford physician, who was feeling rather overwhelmed. Dr Ingrams was after a peaceful retirement near his daughter in Hampshire, and soon left his practice to George, who since after his reunion with his sister had had a hankering to come back to the village of his youth.

The forge was not doing as well as before. The smith still acted as a farrier for the village and beyond, and people still had carriages and traps to repair, but at the dawn of the new millennium, factories sprouted up here and there, producing hardware and agricultural implements cheaper than any forge could possibly afford to do. Therefore, the number of apprentices dwindled, and soon Miss Lane was faced with the prospect of closing it down altogether, as it cost more to keep the furnace stoked than the profits made. She was loath to do it, however, because she knew it provided many services to the community.

Miss Lane was fond of saying that people need people, and her habit of building and sustaining friendships once again came to her rescue. After more than a decade of working as a traveling clockmaker, Fisher Bloom decided to settle down, and, as he had a true fondness for Miss Lane and the village of Candleford, chose it as his destination. He needed a well-equipped workshop, and the forge proved suitable. He was not really surprised to see that Laura and Daniel had parted ways, but did not try and pursue her – he had made his choice several years before, and had no wish to renew their flirtation. Indeed, Laura was the instrument of Fisher's wedded bliss.

Laura visited the manor quite often in those days – she missed, if not Daniel, the opportunities of conversing with someone her age, and Elisabeth, Faith's governess, had proved herself a rather kindred spirit. Moreover, Laura was quite fond of her little sister Ethel, who was still living there and being educated with Faith. The four girls had jolly times, walking along the country lanes or playing parlour games by the fireside. And sometimes, the two eldest left the children at the post office and went to look at the latest fashions from "Paree". It was during such an escapade that Laura introduced Fisher to Elisabeth…It was an unlikely match, for Elisabeth's father had been a gentleman, if an impoverished one, and Fisher's only a journeyman, but they set to defy Miss Lane's father's edict that "love never crosses the great divide of social class." They were intellectually very well suited to each other, both ardent readers and of keen minds. They settled for a lengthy engagement as Elisabeth did not feel she could leave her charge just yet, but they intended to marry as soon as Faith was old enough to be sent to school and to enjoy herself there.

New century, new beginnings

The dawning of the new century proved momentous for England, and on a smaller scale, for Candleford. The first event that took place was Minnie's wedding to Alfie – she went to live with him in Lark Rise, but made frequent visits to the post-office in order to supervise the new housemaid. Lizzie, Alfie's brother, was very excited to leave Lark Rise and to take up her new position, although she was very much in awe of Miss Lane. Minnie had carried many lurid tales of the comings and goings at the post-office, and she had also given her new sister-in-law many pieces of advice as to Miss Lane's particularities – the way she liked her bath and her toasts, how to dust the counter without disturbing anything, and how the attic was the bane of a maid's existence! At just 13, Lizzie was quite a good housekeeper, but she was not used to a place as big and as dainty as the post-office.

Other wedding bells were in the offing. George Ellison much enjoyed discussing books and theories with Dorcas and Aubrey when the latter was in Candleford. After he had finished his medical studies, he had taken a strong interest in psychology, no doubt partly due to his relationship with his own father, and he was eager to share his ideas with others. At twenty-one, Laura was no longer a child, and thus was included in those after-dinner parlor discussions. She had quite forgotten that she had once thought that ignorance might be best, and was eager to learn as much as possible from her elders. And she was not immune to George's charms, nor was he to hers. Compared to Daniel, he was more mature and more manly and she found him comforting and quite a pillar of strength. Laura had been missing her father very much since he had left to work in Oxford, and George was in his way as strong-headed and as much a partisan for human rights as Robert Timmins had always been.

And so, as she had always wanted to be married at Christmas time, ever since her first magical Christmas in Candleford, they married in December 1900. She left her employment at the post-office with regret, but looked forward to being "the doctor's wife". Fortunately for Miss Lane, the succession was ensured – at fifteen, Laura's sister Ethel had been well educated by Faith's governess, and was more than ready and eager to become a post girl. She had spent many hours in the post office with Faith and Sydney, and as her sister had been before her, she was fascinated by the place.

The mischief of life

The telegram announcing the Queen's death arrived at the post-office during one of Aubrey Rushton's visits. On that 2nd of February, 1901, the Pratt sisters displayed mourning clothes in their window, and M. Rushton had a decision to make. This great wave of bereavement that had engulfed the nation rang in his mind like a warning – no one ever grew younger, and lives had but a definite number of days in them. He had been in love with Dorcas for some years now, and felt fairly certain that she shared his sentiment. They had sometimes broached the subject of matrimony. As a former post-office inspector himself, he knew very well that Miss Lane would not be able to remain post-mistress if she married. She had been heard jesting that should she want to marry, she would find a loophole in that regulation, but they both knew it would not be easy.

And yet, even though the queen was dead, the moral principles of her age remained, and he could not possibly offer Dorcas a life together without marriage.

However, that was not the sole object of his dilemma. Miss Lane often said that what she abhorred more than anything was deceit and dishonesty. And he had not been completely frank with her. He had not exactly lied, but neither had he told her the truth. During long evenings by the fire, when they had found themselves alone, she had told him about what she had called a "youthful passion" for Sir Timothy Midwinter, adding that her father had been so adamant that "love never crossed the great divide of social class" that she had not dared to go against his dictum and rebel, and thus had rejected Sir Timothy's proposal of marriage. She had added that there had been other times when she had loved where she ought not to have, and quoted one of her favorite poems "Therefore the Love which us doth bind,

But Fate so enviously debars,

Is the Conjunction of the Mind,

And Opposition of the Stars."

All this had put Aubrey Rushton in a difficult position. He had told her little about his childhood or his parentage, mentioning an unknown mother who had died at his birth, and a distant father who had sent him to school at six years old to join his three older brothers. One of these brothers had died there of diphtheria, and another one had died during the Crimean War. As for Aubrey, when his father had learnt he wanted to become something as common as a postman, he had ordered him to change his name – his real name was Rashton, not Rushton. The last brother he was estranged with. This estrangement had come at the time of their father's death – the brothers had never been close – not only because they were nearly ten years apart, but because the older one had never quite forgiven the youngest for being the involuntary cause of their mother's death. Aubrey had never condoned his brother's lifestyle, which included gambling on horses, smoking opium and drinking large amounts of spirits. This debauchery had certainly contributed to his brother's death before his time, and had led to Aubrey Rushton receiving a rather cumbersome inheritance, one he never expected to get.

And he could not keep it hidden from Dorcas any longer if he was going to make her his wife.

Once upon a time

Aubrey Rushton was so afraid he would lose his nerve if he waited for his next visit that he decided he would talk to Miss Lane as soon as he got a chance to get her alone. Fortune smiled upon him, as she invited him up for a glass of port after dinner that same night.

Dorcas, I want to talk to you

Oh, really, Aubrey ? I was not aware we were _not_ talking to each other ?

He really hated when she made puns – he never knew if it was because she was in a good mood or in a foul one. However, he had made a promise to himself, and thus struggled on manfully.

I have a story to tell you – local history, you might say …

Ooh – I do love local history ! My one weakness …

Once upon a time, there was an earl who had several sons. He should have been proud of having sired so many boys, but the truth was that he was jealous. He believed his wife loved them more than she loved him. And thus he was harsh and aloof with them, as he was with his tenants and his servants. The situation worsened when his beloved wife died in childbirth. From then on, he drowned his sorrows in drink. The brothers were estranged, and they all died in their prime, except the youngest one. He who had always been considered as the runt, a good-for-nothing, because he did not like fighting and preferred his books to rampaging around the countryside, had become the heir to the title and the property.

Poor man – this is such a sad tale, Aubrey – I wonder whether this inheritance will make him happy. Perhaps, if he is a true and honest man, he can use his position to the good.

Well, Dorcas, he would be a truer and more honest man if he had a wife at his side, surely ?

Indeed he would, if he marries a sensible woman.

Sensible ? Well, I am not sure that is the first word that comes to mind

Do you know them, then ?

I would say …she's quite fiercely independent, with a good head for business, a tendency to interfere in her neighbors' affairs, but a very lovable woman on the whole.

You seem to be quite intimately acquainted with her …

Well, so are you – and do stop teasing me, Dorcas – I cannot for a moment imagine you do not see what I am saying ?

Have you been drinking, Aubrey ? Or mad with grief at the death of Her Majesty ?

It is to be feared that Dorcas could be quite oblivious when it came to her own love life…When she had feelings for someone, her wits tended to desert her. She was so afraid of appearing as the rather forbidding Dorcas Lane, post mistress, that she usually went to the other extreme, and could be quite ingenuous, all the more so since she was rather afraid of her own feelings.

I can promise you, Dorcas, that I am not under the influence of drink, and not distressed by our late Queen's demise. But I can see that I will have to spell this out a little more clearly – Dorcas, could you, would you become the next Countess Rashton ? Will you marry me ?

Well, Aubrey, not being a sensible woman, I will accept your proposal …

 **Epilogue**

From that day on, Aubrey and Dorcas were engaged. As Dorcas would not be able to stay on as a postmistress once married, she managed to have Sydney, although still very young, sworn in as postmaster, she herself remaining as sub-postmistress. They married a year after the engagement, and lived partly at the post-office, and partly at Rashton Hall, a rather big and dilapidated house near Oxford. The new Earl of Rashton and his wife did their best to improve their tenants' living conditions, and to educate the children of the poorer families.

Some years later, when he was nineteen, Sydney married Faith, Sir Timothy's daughter…They were married in a Catholic church by her father.

Love had indeed crossed the great divide of social class, and the Conjunction of the Minds achieved even the meeting of parallel lines …


End file.
